


One, Two, Three

by MillionDollarTeddyBear



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Crime Boss Arthur Pendragon, Crimes & Criminals, Deception, Falling In Love, False Identity, Forbidden Love, Love, M/M, Organized Crime, Police, Police Officer Merlin Emrys, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25139365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MillionDollarTeddyBear/pseuds/MillionDollarTeddyBear
Summary: It's Arthur and Merlin's one year anniversary. Even though Arthur has everything perfectly set up, things don't go as planned.(Mob Boss AU)
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 41





	One, Two, Three

**Author's Note:**

> Brief warning for occasional mentions of violence. The descriptions aren't very graphic in detail, just sort of what you can come to expect from a mob boss au.

It was not supposed to happen like this. 

The day was June 17th. It was gonna be a rainy day, that’s what the weatherman had forecasted and true to his word the day had started with cloudy skies and the molasses-like slow feeling that came with that overcast. It had started raining at around ten and had continued since, only pausing intermittently and slowing to a drizzle. It was a rather ordinary day for many people, sure, but then again all those other people didn’t know it as the date that marked a whole year of Arthur being in a relationship with the most _amazing_ human being that had ever existed in this world. 

Normally, Arthur Pendragon wasn’t one for romantic things. He had a reputation to uphold, a very important one at that, one that he didn’t want to sully with the perception that he was somehow emotional, that he was effusive and affectionate and a sap. Really, he didn’t ever openly partake in anything that could sway his image away from what it was. Romance had always taken up the bottom position on his long list of priorities, always, but he couldn’t resist after Merlin had brought up their anniversary last week. 

The topic of their anniversary came up over a glass of red wine while they watched The Americans on the big telly in Arthur’s living room. “ _You watch that show too?_ ” Merlin had excitedly proclaimed months ago to the blond who had nodded, smiling at how excitement lit up Merlin’s handsome face. Of course, Merlin didn’t know that the Pendragon man had marathoned the entirety of the series in preparation before he first approached Merlin. 

“Oh, yeah, it’s next week, isn’t it?” Arthur wondered aloud as if it had slipped his mind. They were cuddled on the couch, a familiar and comfortable position. Merlin was tucked into Arthur’s side, wearing his threadbare socks with a kitschy and loud print and an oversized jumper that he’d left last time he’d come over. Arthur had folded it up and put in the drawer in his dresser which had quickly become the home for all the clothes that Merlin had “forgotten” at his flat.

“I know that you’re busy a lot and I mean, I have work too of course, but…,” Merlin's voice fizzled out as he felt Arthur’s gaze turn towards him. A rosy color was already creeping along his cheeks, Arthur could see it despite the darkness in the room since night had fallen but they’d both been too lazy and too cozy in one another’s arms to turn on the nearby lamp. The tv shone on Merlin’s far though, revealing a peachy dawn color spilling along the Lladro of his milky porcelain skin. 

Arthur found it interesting how this man who had dealt with numerous murderers and serial killers—who his peers had dubbed “ _The Dragon_ ” behind his back for how ferociously he worked and how intense he could be—how this man still blushed like a schoolgirl around Arthur. 

“Work is different,” Merlin had quietly murmured once against Arthur’s chest when Arthur had brought it up. The pair of them were comfortable in a postcoital cuddling bliss when Merlin made a sleepy attempt to explain how he was markedly more awkward with Arthur than how he was at his job: “Work doesn't have pretty ocean eyes like you do.”

Arthur found it endearing. He found it quite honestly very cute. A little fuzzy feeling would spread in his chest at the thought that Merlin, who—if Leon’s assessment was anything to go by—could wield a firearm better than most men in Arthur’s employment, got pink-cheeked while trying to propose that they spend the day that marked their one year anniversary together. 

“How about you come over to mine, baby?” Arthur had prompted, smiling softly when he saw the wide beam emerge along Merlin’s lips. “I’ll make dinner and we can have a romantic evening. Together, just the two of us.”

The wide smile that appeared on Merlin’s face was worth the world to Arthur who chucked when he heard the other man’s enthusiastic response of “yes, yeah, yes!”

So, their anniversary. 

The blond had set out to plan everything perfectly. He’d even gone to that pricey bakery and cake boutique in Mayfair to buy the best German Forest gateau in all of England for his darling. Merlin had a major sweet tooth, always loving candies and pastries, something they didn’t have in common at all. The boxes of sugary cereal in the pantry and the pints of chocolate fudge brownie ice cream in the freezer were all for Merlin and Arthur hadn’t ever bought sweets before the bright-eyed Emrys man entered his life. Nowadays though he had little decorative glass bowls filled with tiny candies and lollipops all over his flat.

He’d called in a week earlier to the bakery, knowing that they were always in-demand and so he wanted to ensure that he’d get the cake for their anniversary dinner. Arthur had swung by the bakery to pick it up a few hours and he had it set up on a beautiful crystal cake stand, the final hurrah that their dinner would have before Arthur would sweep Merlin into his arms and take him to his bedroom for a proper anniversary gift. They were going to have the best evening together, Arthur was sure of it, feeling giddy even though that was never an emotion that he would confess to feeling.

Arthur knew that the cake was Merlin’s favorite, and he was already prepared with a quick lie that yes, _Merlin had mentioned it before that he loved the chocolate sponge cake from Alice’s_ , even though it wasn’t true. Merlin hadn’t ever mentioned that out loud. If he had ever said that then Arthur would’ve remembered it: he remembered _every single thing_ that Merlin said, _every single syllable_ that slipped past those bee-stung peony pink lips. So it was a lie, but then again he couldn’t really admit his source, could he?

A position such as the one that Arthur occupied demanded control, so naturally, he felt that he needed to know every single thing that he could about Merlin. He needed to know everything that he could before he even approached the slender and obsidian-haired young man who had in some short years risen to become the wunderkind of the Metropolitan Police. It was a dangerous thing too, a man like Arthur _—_ who did the things he did and was involved in the things he was _—_ having any sort of interaction with a member of the police force—less the kind of interaction that it had eventually become. He assigned the task to Leon, his head of security, who he knew would do any task given to him with the utmost efficiency and to the best of human possibility. 

“Information,” Arthur had described in a hushed tone, explaining what he wanted, “Everything and anything, Leon, alright?”

It had been around a month and a half later when Leon sent him the encrypted file. Arthur’s blue eyes had gone wide when he’d opened it and seen that the report was an exhaustive 120 pages. He engulfed it all in one sitting though, remained at his laptop poring over all the information. He took it all in, greedily soaking in the knowledge. 

Leon’s report was thorough. It gave him everything, more than Arthur had imagined, but he expected nothing less from Leon’s diligent work. Merlin was ambidextrous but he typically used his right hand. Merlin was nearsighted—he had myopia—and though he had prescription eyeglasses he tended to wear contacts. Merlin was a Capricorn but according to the surveillance that Leon had on his phone and laptop, he didn’t care much for horoscopes. 

Merlin Emrys was born thirty-one years ago, he found out, which made him three years Arthur’s junior. That fact made the blond chuckle slightly since he’d imagined the bloke was far younger. He had a fresh-faced and earnest expression in all the pictures that he’d seen up until that point and in all the ones included in the document too. He had a boyishly charming smile where one side of his mouth curled up higher than the other. Little elfin feature too, like he was crafted in the home of an expert dollmaker. A little button nose and all elegant lines, the delicate shape of his nose, and the pronounced form of his cheekbones. He had wayward hair—ever messy, dark in color—that fell in a fringe across his forehead, something which probably didn’t help in making him look his age. 

Arthur wanted to run his hands through Merlin’s hair since the moment he’d seen those pictures of the younger man and he’d gotten to do just that some months later. 

When they hadn’t made plans to have a date out in the town, they would alternate between spending time at one of their flats. Ever since they’d celebrated their fave months together Arthur had wondered about asking Merlin to move in with him. His dark-haired boyfriend spent enough time at his flat anyways, it wouldn’t be too much of a harsh change, and Arthur couldn’t help the pleasant smile that crossed his mind at the thought of waking up daily with Merlin in his arms. Sleep-addled Merlin with his pouting requests of “just five more minutes” and “I’m an officer of the law and I _demand_ you snuggle with me, Arthur” when they’d wake up. 

For so long his costly penthouse had felt like simply a house. Or well, less than that. More like merely living quarters, just someplace outfitted with top-notch security tech and upgrades where he could come and sleep safely. Things were different after months of Merlin coming over and spending the night, spending days on end at his place. He liked all the throw blankets that were strewn over the couches. He felt a fond squeeze at his heart when he noticed the little rings left on his dresser when Merlin would leave in a rush. The pretty little moonstone rings and silver bands that decorated his beloved’s delicate and long fingers. And he loved all of Merlin’s other belongings that had made their way into the apartment: that chipped ceramic mug with a Statue of Liberty on it that he’d been gifted from Gwen when she came back from a trip to NYC that now sat in one of his cupboards and some books of his that made their way into his bookshelves.

Merlin was making the penthouse feel more and more like a _home_. 

He would have to figure out how to make it work though. He would need to somehow have a divide between Merlin and his work which was easier to uphold when Arthur wasn’t sharing a living space with him constantly. 

Regardless, it had been a quiet Thursday afternoon and it was raining (it was London, so, when wasn’t it?) heavily outside. They had an ACDC vinyl playing on Arthur’s heirloom record player and were being lazy bums together in the living room. Merlin was lying down while Arthur was seated, the police offer resting his head in Arthur’s lap, nearly purring with a pleasant rumble at the feeling of Arthur’s hands combing gently through his hair, sliding softly through his ruffled black tresses. It was feather-soft, just as Arthur had thought months ago.

“How was work, Arthur?” Merlin had asked, languid, at ease, his tone betraying just how much he was enjoying Arthur carding through his obsidian tresses. 

When Arthur had decided to approach Merlin he had enlisted the help of his closest associates to help him create a false identity. It needed to be perfect, unbreakable and unimpeachable, with everything from falsified IDs, school records, and a digital presence. They’d worked hard to leave a very believable paper trail of antecedents before it had been deemed safe enough for Arthur to meet Merlin, having greeted the handsome man with the new identity of a one Mr. Arthur Kay. 

“It was alright, baby. Just had to deal with some squabbling today. Some silly office politics and drama, y’know?” he had chuckled lightly in response, softly massaging at the younger’s scalp. Arthur was a hedge fund manager, that was what Merlin had been told. His father had created the business before him and nowadays Arthur had a directing role in the company’s operations which was wholly true except that Uther hadn’t founded a financial empire.

And he had truly dealt with his own kind of office drama that day. They had known there was a snitch in their ranks for some time now, and they slowly bid their time as they waited patiently to uncover the identity of the person. The identity of the pesky mole who was feeding information to Claudas Berry, one of the U.K’s most infamous drug lords and traffickers, the grandfather of all cocaine trade in the British Isles. Arthur didn’t involve himself with Claudas, even less with his merchandise and his business endeavors, but he was prudent enough to know that being in good terms with the octogenarian was beneficial for all parties. The old man had long since retired to a fortified castle in the Scottish Highlands but still held considerable and respectable sway in their underworld. It seemed that Claudas might have changed his mind on their relationship since he _—_ or being realistic, one of his innumerable children which had been all wrestling for control of the family’s business operations _—_ had clearly sent someone to infiltrate Arthur’s ranks and feed information back to his people. 

They’d found out who it was though. After spreading different versions of an upcoming operation amongst their lower ranks they had merely waited, waited to see what would occur. He had gotten the call by that afternoon: the warehouse in Cardiff where they’d lied about an important shipment coming in had been raided and ransacked by Berry’s men. Arthur had called for all of their people to be evacuated though so when Berry’s men were done firing too many rounds of shotgun bullets into the warehouse they’d found it to be empty. No important shipment arrived at that warehouse.

They had them easily traced the leak to one of the lowly members that had joined just some months back. His name was Lionel and he was one of the innumerable bastard children that Claudas had, one of the many offspring that he’d never formally recognized as his own. No wonder they hadn’t ever clocked him from the state. The guy was young, relatively, in his mid-thirties, but he resorted to child-like pleading and sobbing when he’d awoken, tied and bound, blindfolded. He was making a lot of noise, just babbling over choked-out pleas for his life and for mercy, which Arthur found _annoying_ , but the blond at least felt thankful that he didn't need to draw it out. There wasn’t anything they were going to get from freckle-faced and titian haired Lionel Davidson. The poor bloke didn’t know any valuable information on his father’s organization, didn’t even have his father’s surname, and so Arthur had made quick work of dispatching him. 

Maybe he’d gone a tad overboard at the end with the baseball bat, the bloke was already well beyond dead at that point so bashing in his skull (no exaggeration) was rather pointless, but Arthur’s vision had become tinged with red at the thought of someone betraying their loyalty and feeding information to outside parties. Loyalty was valued above everything else to the Pendragons, after all. 

“Did you get it sorted out, Arthur?” Merlin had asked, bringing him away from the mental image of the young man’s body, crumpled in a broken and bloodied heap on the floor. He had left what remained of Lionel for Leon to come in and direct the team who would deliver the body to the closest Berry headquarters. When Arthur didn’t answer immediately, Merlin had popped one eye open and gazed up at Arthur with those pretty pools of forget-me-not blue. 

Continuing to softly pat at Merlin’s hair, Arthur had nodded reassuringly, “All sorted out, sweetheart.”

Returning to the dossier, Merlin was born and raised primarily in the sleepy little town of Ealdor where he lived his youth with his mother Hunith. His father was nowhere to be seen, having never been in the picture according to the report. Leon had considered an exhaustive search into the identity of Merlin’s absentee father but had decided against it, including in a paragraph that he could have the investigation into that matter started whenever Arthur so requested it. His mother was a hardworking woman, juggling a series of jobs to maintain their household afloat, receiving much-appreciated help from an uncle named Gaius, who it appeared was an immensely loving figure in Merlin’s life. 

Arthur had met them both and he was quite proud to say that meeting the family had gone well. 

He’d met Gaius when the man came to visit Merlin and stayed at his flat for a weekend. The old man was an academic at Gawant College, the head of their medical school who was a nephrologist by trade and a former prolific researcher in the field of kidney disease. He had greeted Arthur with a small smile and a tight handshake, having too much of a strong grip for being a septuagenarian but Arthur appreciated it nonetheless. He had graciously accepted Arthur’s invitation to take them out for dinner that evening, probably as a means of getting to know the young man who was dating Merlin, who Arthur knew well Gaius saw as a son. 

“He really liked you,” Merlin had voiced during a late-night phone call the weekend after Gaius’ visit. Merlin had been stuck late in the office and had canceled on their dinner plans that evening. Arthur didn’t hold it against him in the slightest _—_ he’d been sure from the first time that he’d seen Merlin in person, startlingly bright blue eyes and messy hair, that he’d never be able to be truly angry at him _—_ and he had learned that sometimes, on nights that they weren’t able to spend together, Merlin rather enjoyed phone calls. The ease of talking with one another, of hearing Arthur’s voice, was relaxing, Merlin had once explained.

The blond would do whatever his boyfriend asked of him if it meant that Merlin would flutter off peacefully to sleep. 

Arthur had been lying in bed, reading over a top-secret confidential report that Morgana had sent him that afternoon, the call on speaker. He had smiled, a genuine smile appearing on his face and he had also felt a deep relief settling in his body. Arthur didn’t know what he would’ve done with himself if the man that was basically Merlin’s father figure didn’t like him. He’d been committed that evening to be the best suitor that he could, ordering the best bottle of wine the restaurant had available and trying to show Gaius that his nephew truly was what made his world go round.

“Is that so, darling?” Even though he couldn’t see him, Arthur knew there would be a rosy color spilling along the lovely milky white of Merlin’s face at the pet name. Those little affectionate names and sweet titles always got his Merlin to blush.

“Yeah, he says you seem like a ‘proper young man’. I had to convince him that you don’t vote Tory, though,” Merlin chuckled and Arthur laughed too.

Arthur had gotten to meet Hunith too when Merlin had mentioned that he was going to be traveling home to Ealdor during a break from work. He’d invited Arthur to come along, adding that it would be a great chance to both meet his mum but also see the quaint town that he grew up in. The blond had been wary at first, mainly because he knew that the Berry clan were acting up and being rather rambunctious _—_ something that was understandable considering that Arthur’s people had delivered the corpse of their mole but it was still _annoying_. He didn’t know if it was the best thing for the leader to be leaving the fort in such times. 

But then Merlin, the sneaky brat, had looked up while he packed his clothes with those darling puppy dog eyes that he had to know made Arthur all soft.

The Pendragon man had conceded and the following week they were on a train en route to Ealdor up north. They’d taken a cab from the train station to Merlin’s childhood home, their luggage crowded in the trunk and Merlin looking out the window, eagerly pointing out spots to Arthur. “They have the best ice cream there, Arthur, really!” and “I hated my primary school, I would always argue with my mum in the mornings and try and convince her to let me stay home,” all the while Arthur took in the sleepy town and the wondrous bright gleam in Merlin's eyes. 

When they pulled up to Merlin’s childhood house there was already a woman waiting for them outside who rushed over the moment the car stopped outside the two-story little home. Effusive kisses to Merlin’s cheeks were accompanied by the man’s grumbling of “Mum! I visited like, _three months ago_! You’re acting like I’m coming back from the war!”. Arthur could tell that Merlin was just as happy to be seeing his mother though, by the look on his face, a small smile betraying his groaning complaints about her affection. 

“And you must be Arthur!” the woman announced when she turned to look at him with a radiant smile. Arthur understood now where Merlin’s incredible beauty came from: despite her simple outfit and the blowing wind messing at her hair, Hunith was a rather beautiful woman. _Merlin inherited her smile too_ , he noted, and gave her a bright grin in return as she said, “It’s so wonderful to meet you!”

Those four days they spent in Ealdor were wonderful. Arthur loved chuckling as Hunith showed him baby pictures of Merlin (“This is why I don’t introduce you to anyone, mum!”) and he showered her with praise over her cooking (“Best treacle tart I’ve ever had, Mrs. Emrys”, “Aren’t you a charmer? And it’s Hunith, dear”). He loved seeing the town with Merlin as his guide, enjoyed languid and unhurried picnics under the cloudy sky in the moors that Merlin had run around in as a child, and went to the same movie theater that Merlin always frequented when he was a teenager. Arthur made himself readily available for anything Hunith needed (“Here, let me, Hunith”, “Arthur, really, there’s no need, I can-”, “I’m happy to help, Hunith, always happy to help”) and listened during the long-awaited shovel talk that she gave him one day when she sent Merlin off to the supermarket downtown. 

“I love him, Mrs. Emrys, I truly do,” he’d said to her that last day in the kitchen as she made quick work of chopping some tomatoes. His voice was strong and unwavering, and even though he hadn’t said it yet to Merlin, he wanted Hunith to know. 

He had yet to express those words to Merlin though. Merlin, who had quickly schooled his face away from a crestfallen look when he’d said it two weeks before and Arthur hadn’t replied the same sentiment back. Arthur had noticed it, just as he noticed everything about Merlin, How his smile remained but dimmed ever so, how his jaw twitched in anxiety for a moment, a torrent of apologies probably being held back. He noticed how the lithe man wrung his hands nervously, fidgeting for a millisecond, and Arthur could hear the thoughts that were racing a mile a minute in his mind. Arthur hadn’t been ready then, not because he didn’t share the feeling, more because he hadn’t been ready to verbalize the statement he knew was true in his heart. 

He didn’t want to admit that he had truly and so deeply fallen in love with Merlin because he knew it would make everything else in the future hurt so much more. 

Still, he wanted Merlin’s mother to know.

“I know you do. And I’m very happy that he has you, Arthur,” Hunith had said, sliding the tomatoes into a bowl before setting everything down and turning to look at him. She hugged him then, a warm hug, maternal and tight, that brought to mind those hugs he’d gotten from his mother, mere hazy figments of his childhood memory that he clung to whenever he could manage to recall glimpses of them. Even though Arthur had learned over the course of the previous days that Merlin’s mother was a hugger he felt this one was different. An acceptance, an entrusting of her son in his hands, an approval as she looked at him and gleamed what she could, that what she saw made him deserving of Merlin.

He wasn’t, Arthur would reason, deserving of Merlin, not in any way.

But, if both Hunith and Gaius seemed to approve, who was he to counter them?

And if Merlin had been so vulnerable and so open as to trust in Arthur to tell him that he loved him then who was Arthur to not love him back?

He still struggled to say it. And it wasn’t for a lack of trying, that was far from it since there’d been many times that he had wanted to just say it. Like when they’d gone out to dinner to celebrate their six-month anniversary to The Brécilien Lounge, one of London’s premier restaurants that boasted three Michelin stars. Votive candles filled the space between them with a soft pear perfume as their hands were clasped above the table and they’d sipped white wine from the establishment’s most expensive bottle of fruity Sauvignon blanc from Sancerre. With his artfully messy hair combed into the best that it could be tamed and dressed in a tailored blue suit, Merlin looked like a knock-out, and even better, he’d been donning a big smile all throughout the evening. Arthur had wanted to say it, he’d wanted to say it when Merlin’s head was thrown back as he laughed about a story that Arthur was telling of his childhood days growing up on his grandmother’s country manor in Surrey. He’d felt the words at the tip of his tongue when Merlin had blushed like mad when Arthur said he looked sexy in his suit, going red even to the tips of his ears. He could feel the words caught in his throat as his eyes met Merlin’s later that evening when they’d gone back to Merlin’s flat and found themselves in his bedroom, making love in the moonlight. 

Merlin said it so freely. He had been doing so ever since that first time. It was so casual to him, it seemed. Merlin would use it as a goodbye when he’d rush out of Arthur’s flat with his coffee cup almost spilling and his hair unbrushed.

“I love you! Gotta go!” he’d call and the door would shut behind him.

Merlin would say it as a reply after a funny anecdote that had him grabbing at his sides because his tummy hurt from all the laughing. 

“You’re too much,” he managed to get out between laughs, reaching over to give his shoulder a small smack, “I love you!”

It was Arthur who had become the King of London’s underground criminal scene, it was Arthur who had strangled and stabbed and tortured people to death, and yet the blond considered Merlin to be the most fearless one of them. How openly he said those three words, how genuine they sounded each and every time they were spoken. How he felt so at ease with that, with admitting and stating that he loved Arthur. 

Arthur didn’t know how long he could put up with that dull ache in his chest that came with every missed opportunity to say those words though. Especially not when he caught the minute changes in Merlin’s expression when he didn’t say it back: a small swallow, how his posture would change and he’d hunch into himself ever so slightly, a quick and definitive nod and then a change in topic. It was hurting Merlin, he could see that, hurting him to not hear those words said back to him. It hurt Arthur too because he wanted to, it pained him how those fucking words lodged themselves in his throat, how they resisted at his tongue and his teeth. 

That’s how the hand-squeezing started. Three squeezes to Merlin’s hand. Three squeezes to Merlin’s shoulder. Three little pats to his palm, three strokes along his forearm, three circles rubbed into his back. 

“I love you, Arthur,” Merlin said one night when they were both in the kitchen in the morning. Merlin’s dark hair was wet from his shower just some fifteen minutes earlier and he was spreading some marmalade on a slice of toast. 

“And I you,” Arthur replied, leaning close and pressing three kisses to the younger’s cheek. 

And again, “I love you,” Merlin breathed out as they took a stroll through the streets of London. The moon shone like a diamond in the dark indigo expanse of the sky and the stars twinkled like gems though no celestial body could compare with the gleam of his beloved’s baby blues. 

Their hands clasped, Arthur gave Merlin’s hand three squeezes. “And I you, baby” he replied with ease, feeling his heart flutter when he saw just how much Merlin’s smile grew at those three words. 

Arthur knew what he was trying to convey in those little gestures. 1 squeeze, _I_ , 2 squeezes, _love_ , 3 squeezes, _you_. A nonverbal declaration of what he knew in his heart was true yet hadn’t been able to bring himself to say. 

In further reading the file, he learned that Merlin had studied at Ealdor College, a school with a relatively small student body but ample prestige where he received his degree in Psychology while minoring in European History. He had gone on to receive a full scholarship to the University of Oxford right after finishing at Ealdor, having graduated with the highest honors and in the uppermost percentage of his class. It was Oxford when he earned his MSc in Criminology and Criminal Justice, moving to London and living there ever since. He had been a stellar student at Oxford as well and became a noted favorite of Geoffrey Monmouth, a big name when it came to the fields of criminal psychology and intelligence, a former senior police officer who had been the Director of GCHQ. 

Thanks to his close association with Monmouth and the older man’s glowing praise and recommendation, Merlin was tapped to join a small task force of criminal psychologists and behavior analysts that were employed by the National Crime Agency to help build a psychological profile of the media-dubbed Red Knight, a grisly serial killer whose crimes had been all over the news when they occurred years ago. The Knight would drain their victims, all women of color between the ages of 15 and 30 whose deaths were by strangulation, of all their blood before they would use that very same blood to paint highly detailed fairytale imagery on the walls of the women’s homes. Princesses at the top of high towers, gallant men on steeds, brave warriors armed with swords and shields. Fearsome scaly dragons breathing out flames, fairy grottos hidden beside riverbanks and in tree trunks, evil witches casting out hexes as they stood arm-in-arm around a fire pit, all gruesomely depicted in blood along the walls. 

The taskforce had worked hard at making the profile but kept falling short, unable to pinpoint an exact profile for the security agencies and law enforcement to use. And then, one day, Merlin had spearheaded the task force's efforts, suddenly alit, and they’d produced a resounding criminal profile for the NCA, one that soon led them to find the man who was behind the series of murders. The man fit the profile and description created by the taskforce perfectly. 

Following the wide media coverage that the criminal’s murders, capture, and subsequent trial received, as well as the knowledge that Merlin had led the task force's efforts in the crucial weeks leading up to the creation of the profile, attempts were made by a slew of government organizations to draft Merlin into their ranks. MI6 and MI5, GCHQ, Interpol, Defence Intelligence, all of them had contacted Merlin in an effort to get him to join them. Leon made note that it was highly possible that, with his intellect (which was remarkably high) and profile coupled with a slew of evidence that he had included in the report as well, that American intelligence agencies had made attempts to entice Emrys to join their forces. 

He’d denied all those offers and instead joined law enforcement. He had risen quickly through the ranks of the police and he was currently an authorized firearms officer, working as a Detective Inspector and during his time in that position had become a well-recognized member of the police force. He had—amongst other accomplishments—headed the task force that had broken up the Newham-based QVENNE strip club’s criminal underground activities relating to forced prostitution and human trafficking, been the detective who cracked the case of the media-dubbed Shortarm Stalker and had been a senior investigating officer on the Major Crime Team that put Olwen Colwich, the woman behind the Hergest Murders, behind bars. 

He had a pet dog as well. It was a Mini Australian Shepherd named Killgarah, who the dossier claimed he cared for deeply. Leon’s report included that Merlin sometimes took the dog with him on his daily runs in the morning but that he tended to prefer casual strolls in the afternoon when he came back from work. Merlin’s social media was rampant with pictures of the sweet and fluffy dog and Arthur had chuckled when he saw that Leon had included screenshots of his Instagram page and his stories where he seemed to regularly post pictures of himself with the dog. 

Arthur met Killgarah on his third date with Merlin. The raven-haired man had agreed to drinks with Arthur when he’d gotten off from work early and they’d visited a little hole-in-the-wall bar that had the best whiskey and greasy appetizers that London had to offer. Arthur had loved seeing Merlin’s radiant smile in the warm lighting of the bar and had wanted to lick the chipotle aioli sauce that lingered at the corner of his lips after a bite from one of the delicious sliders they’d ordered. Their date was almost cut short though when Merlin—giving him an earnestly apologetic look—said that he needed to get home and take “Killi” for a walk. 

Arthur had suggested that they could continue their date though. He would be glad to join Merlin and his cute dog on a walk if that was alright with Merlin. “I just really like talking to you,” the blond had admitted, tone dripping with sincerity as his eyes met those pools of azure that he couldn’t get out of his head. 

Killi had sniffed at Arthur for about two seconds before rubbing up on his leg, demanding some sort of affection as he jumped on his hind legs and did a walking trick for the blond’s amusement. “Well aren’t you just the _sweetest_?” Arthur had cooed as he dropped to his haunches on the sidewalk outside Merlin’s building where he’d waited outside for the dark-haired policemen to fetch the pooch. “Just the sweetest doggo, right?” Arthur asked, his voice going all caricaturish and animated as he squished the little canine’s face, receiving excited licks to his palms and earning a fond chuckle from Merlin. 

“Not as cute as your owner though,” Arthur had added as Killi plopped to the ground, shifting so the blond would get the hint and rub his belly. He glanced up at Merlin whose cheeks colored a slight rose at the compliment. 

If a report were to be made in the present it would probably describe Killi as being overly spoiled. That would fall heavily on Atrthur who Merlin playfully accused of feeding the dog too many chicken-flavored organic treats and fattening him up with those yoghurt-and-berry bone-shaped frozen treats that he’d found a recipe for online and refused to stop making. “Killi really likes them!” Arthur would retort, “Don’t you, Kili-bear?” he would call out to the dog who would only deign to open one of his eyes before returning to his slumber. 

Merlin binged The Crown on Netflix and This is Us on Hulu. He watched ASMR videos designed “to help you go to sleep,” late-night comedian’s monologues, and film analysis videos on YouTube. He had an eclectic mix of playlists that featured Amy Winehouse, Tove Lo, Urgehal, Serge Gainsbourg, Charli XCX, Missy Elliot, and ABBA. He phoned his mum at least once a week and his best friends included a childhood mate named Will and fellow police detective Gwen Thompson. His last relationship was with a financier named Cenred who worked in The Square had lasted for a year and a half before it ended nine months prior to Leon’s investigation beginning. 

So yes, Arthur knew well that Merlin liked German forest gateau. It’d been included on page 56 under the _Diet & Eating Habits _ section. 

Arthur had planned it all out, drawing on all the information he had on Merlin, both from their shared conversations and from Leon’s file. He got a bottle of late-harvest Sauternes that he knew Merlin was going to live for: his boyfriend always had a sweet tooth when it came to wine. He organized the menu too, a pomfret served in a ginger sauce with Chinese clay-pot rice and a side of vegetables. He had expressly communicated to everyone that on June 17th, he was not to be bothered.

Merlin had arrived in a flurry at 7:00 p.m., an apologetic expression on his face making his big fawn eyes look even larger and the corners of his peony lips turn downwards as he shut the door behind him. The lithe male had a key to Arthur’s apartment, having been given one by the blond seven months into their relationship. It was something that Leon and Morgana and the rest of the team hadn{t been too pleased by. “I’m so sorry, Arthur, really,” he had started, looking stricken with the fact that he hadn’t made it to Arthur’s flat at the accorded time of 6:30. He slipped off his oversized burgundy colored coat, hanging up on the coat rack, “I got stuck at work. I’m so sorry, I was supposed to leave early, I’d told everyone that I needed to head out at 5:00 but we were going over the info we have on the Camelot case. Still dead ends though.”

And there, there it was, the big reason behind their relationship. The Camelot case that Merlin so casually mentioned was the police investigation going on downtown that was investigating the Camelot Triad. Camelot, as it was more readily known, was one of London’s best known criminal organizations. A mysterious and covert group, Merlin had for months bemoaned that they hadn’t gotten any further with the investigation and that they were at a dead-end on all fronts of their police inquiry. 

If only Merlin knew that the biggest lead of them all was the person in whose arms he slept.

Arthur was the infamously untraceable King, the name that everyone in London’s underground knew him as, at the helm of the Camelot Triad. He’d taken up the role years ago after he had killed his father and he’d completely restructured the organization since. And all throughout those years, with countless police investigations that came and went, the group had enjoyed the privilege of anonymity: nobody had been able to trace their activities accurately, nobody knew the identities of those in the Round Table—the innermost circle of the crime organization’s leadership—nobody could properly gather any information on them. 

And then came Merlin Emrys. 

A starry-eyed police investigator whose face Arthur had first seen in the dossier that had been handed to him a year and a half ago in the weekly meeting that he had with the Round Table. Both Morgana, his sister who was his trusted right hand, and Leon, his head of security and body man, had looked worried and Arthur caught the nervous glance they’d shared when he’d taken his seat. The two were steely—both known for having the most impassive of resolves—and seeing the flicker of worry in his sister’s green eyes had been alarming but he hadn’t understood at first when he’d opened the folder to see the picture of a (rather _handsome_ ) young man. 

Merlin Emrys had done what nobody before him had been able to: he’d gotten solid information regarding the Camelot Triad. 

One of the Table’s members was Lancelot DuLac. He was a surgeon who’d formerly been involved in humanitarian aid work and had previously run field missions with Medecins Sans Frontiers in Nigeria, Cambodia, and Ecuador, Merlin’s notes had read. There was a blurry picture as well, one which showed Lance in profile, accompanied by a much clearer one that was seemingly taken at one of those field missions, white tents, and trucks behind a smiling Lancelot. Another was Morgause Blake, a former cabaret and burlesque performer who became a prominent thief, Merlin’s angular handwriting detailed. She was searched around the world for being a suspect of high-profile robberies that had taken place in museums such as the Louvre, the Tate Modern, the Met and security vaults of Cartier, Tiffanys, and De Beers. There was a picture of Morgause as well, a clear one, a frontal picture that showed the dark eyeliner she used to always wear around her eyes and a slight smirk across her lips. 

A possible connection between the organization and the Brangaine Gallery, the fine art gallery near the West End that they used on the rare occasion to funnel cash through. One of their headquarters in Manchester had been compromised. A warehouse in Leicester as well. 

“He’s good,” Percival had grunted out after a couple minutes of silence after they’d all finished reading the file. 

Morgause scoffed, “Too good. He knows too much.”

Point was, Merlin was already too close. Arthur had set out to remedy that. 

Or well, originally that had been the plan. Gain Merlin’s trust without getting to close, maybe even get the handsome bloke in bed for a night or two before luring him into an unsuspecting location and bam! They’d erase him from the picture, they’d direct the police’s attention towards the disappearance of one of their one. If the police weren’t sufficiently consumed with looking into Merlin’s disappearance then maybe they could get in contact with some unsavory associates to stage a couple of violent crimes and murders and robberies if needed. Whatever it took to simply get them off of their tail, that’s what they needed to do.

Everyone at Camelot knew that the plan had gone awry, though. Morgana and Leon shared concerned glances during their meetings and there’d been whispering amongst other members of the Round Table. Arthur had gotten too close to Merlin, they all knew, much too close for him to properly execute the job himself but also too close for them to risk the repercussions of taking the matter in their own hands. The Round Table felt antsy with the realization that Arthur was too far gone to kill Merlin and was too in love to let them actually do it for him: he always evaded questions on the plan, just kept insisting that the Camelot case that Merlin was running had no new leads, that it would be safe for Morgause to come back from her hideout in Brussels and Lance from his in Hong Kong soon enough, that he’d resolve it. 

Arthur knew what the plan was, fucking hell, he’d crafted it, and he knew that he would execute it when the time was ready. It just hadn’t been the right moment, he constantly excused himself in his mind when he’d lay awake at night. He’d have to tear his eyes away from Merlin’s sleeping face, chest falling and rising slowly, from the thoughts that crept into his head in the depths of midnight. Would Merlin look as peaceful when dead as he did when he was asleep?

It wasn’t the right time. He’d do it when the time was right. It just wasn’t the right time, he had to repeat to himself. 

“Don’t worry, baby,” Arthur had chuckled, bringing Merlin into his arms after the slighter man had slipped off his coat. “I know how work can be. I’m just glad that you made it before the food got cold.”

“I left Gwen holding down the fort,” Merlin smiled as he nestled into Arthur’s embrace, breathing deeply at his aroma of sandalwood and spice and pine. “And I’m going in late tomorrow, which means...”

“I get to have my way with you all night without having to worry about you having a morning shift?” Arthur prompted with a small laugh as he pulled away, arching a brow.

Merlin laughed lightly, giving the blond a small smack on the shoulder. “Is that all you think about, Arthur?”

“You’re a beautiful man, Merlin, it’s hard not too,” Arthur replied salaciously, laughing a bit and wrapping an arm around the police officer's waist, drawing him close and leading him to the dining room where his record player was filling the room with soft classical music. The sound of violins and flutes flitted about the room between the flickering light of the many aromatic candles that Arthur had burning around the room. “Happy one year, Merlin,” Arthur smiled when he heard the little gasp that the dark-haired bloke let out, standing behind him and pressing a kiss to his hair.

“Arthur...Arthur this is,” and Merlin’s mouth open and closed, at a loss for how to properly express himself, “I don’t even know what to say…,” he breathed out, looking at the heirloom bone china and the bouquet of camellias.

“You don’t have to say anything, Merlin,” Arthur chuckled, pressing another kiss to the other man’s cheek. “Just know that I treasure you so much, Merlin.”

“You too, Arthur,” Merlin earnestly replied, nestling into Arthur’s body, “I love you.”

“And I you. You’ve given me the happiest year of my life, Merlin,” Arthur stated, his tone carrying the importance and the warmth of those words as he held Merlin close. 

Glancing at Merlin then—that same over-the-moon happy twinkle in his blue eyes—Arthur couldn’t help but think of how handsome he looked. Lit by the flame of the candles in the dim room, the flickering dancing figure of the fire cast a shapeshifting shadow over his face. The darkness and light highlighting the angular form of his jawline, the regal slope of his nose, and the kissable shape of his mouth. “I love you, Arthur,” Merlin said, voice quiet, just shared between them, as he leaned up and kissed the blond, slow and soft and God, Arthur wanted that _forever_ , he wanted _them_ forever.

Why couldn’t he be allowed to have that forever?

“Let me get the food, sweetheart,” Arthur said as they parted. Merlin nodded and took a seat and he went to the kitchen. The food was all prepared and so he started bringing out the dishes to the dining room, chiding Merlin with “you deserve nothing less” when the dark-haired police officer claimed that he didn’t need to go through all the trouble of cooking such an elaborate dinner. Merlin had just laughed, a bright sound that Arthur wanted to get to enjoy forever, every single day of his life.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom. Just a moment and I’ll be back,” Merlin said, pulling his gaze away from the decadent array of food that was covering the table. He extended his hand towards Arthur’s, giving his hand a small squeeze. 

“That’s alright, baby, ” Arthur nodded, replying with a small love-dopey smile and three squeezes of his own. Merlin stood and walked out into the hall, and, after watching him go—feeling a lovestruck sensation in his stomach, a warm fuzzy feeling—Arthur pulled out his phone. 

He hadn’t been using his phone much for the entirety of that afternoon, having been engrossed in getting the food prepared and everything ready for when Merlin was to arrive. He’d mostly ignored it, mainly since he’d expressly conveyed to everyone—Leon and Morgana and the rest of the Round Table—that he wasn’t to be bothered lest it be an earth-shattering emergency.

Arthur frowned slightly as he swiped through unimportant emails from Camelot’s associates that would be forwarded directly to Morgana and Leon who’d take care of those matters, swiping along app notifications too, when he noticed he’d gotten messages from Morgana and Leon about an hour ago. 

**_Morgana (6:00)_ **

I’m sorry Arthur

**_Leon (6:01)_ **

It needs to be done, Arthur

**_Morgana (6:02)_ **

I didn’t want for this to happen

But you forced our hands

**_Leon (6:05)_ **

The target needs to be executed

The Round Table has voted unanimously to supersede you and put in motion the plan

Operation Falcon Shot Down will be going forth today

As he read those messages he felt his heart slow with dread and his breath quicken slightly. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, no, no, no_ , his mind chanted instantly, a scared prayer to the heavens that their messages didn’t mean what he thought they did, _please God, plea_ -

There was a loud crashing sound that startled him, making him realize just how tensed up his limbs had been, and then he heard it. The screams, Merlin's voice crying out. 

_“Arthur! Arthur! Arthur!”_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed the fic! I'd greatly appreciate any kudos, comments or feedback if you'd like to leave some!


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